


When the Days Are Cold

by WinchesterPooja (chronic_potterphile)



Series: In This Fight [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Dark fic, Demon!Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Drama, Friendship, Gen, M/M, PTSD, Sexual Situations, Slash, Swearing, nastiness, post 9.23, season 10 fic, sequel to 'One Man', show-level gore and violence, speculation fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_potterphile/pseuds/WinchesterPooja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is a wreck. Dean isn't Dean. Cas is dying. Who is going to get them out of this mess now? (Post episode 9.23)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inner Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to SPNXBookworm for her help and support with this fic!
> 
> So I'm legitimately traumatised by that finale. I was shocked for several hours, until, that very night, I decided that I'd need to write to get over hellatus. So here it is — my very own season 10 fic.
> 
> This will probably become AU by the time we're a few cons in but this is just my interpretation of some stuff, and then me trying to cope with hellatus and all the emotional damage. It's about my interpretation of how Dean would be as a new demon. For many reasons, I don't want him downright evil. I'm going to use this fic to dig into his inner struggles with his new self, power, and his relationships with Sam and Castiel.
> 
> This fic is a sequel to my one-shot, 'One Man', but can be read as a standalone. The title has been taken from the Imagine Dragons song, 'Demons'.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy (hopefully)!

**One: Inner Demons**

_"_ _Ain't that a bitch!"_

The words reverberated in Sam's head as he braced for Crowley to appear before him. He knew that Dean had been far more hurt than that when Sam had said he wouldn't save him — but in the end, Dean had just decided to let it go because they —  _Dean_  — had been running out of time. And he had let Sam know that they were okay, in his own, snarky way. After all, there are a number of things that siblings exist for — the fist fights, the ridiculing, and finally, having each other's backs. But sometimes, you hurt the very people who are closest to you. It might have been by mistake, of course, but sometimes you're so hurt, you want the other person to know, to feel how much they hurt you. It's only fair.

But that is not okay when the person before you dies, thinking, until about five minutes before his death, that you meant it all.

Sam knew what he had meant when he had spoken to Dean after the Pishtaco hunt — he knew  _exactly_  what he had meant and he also knew how Dean misinterpreted his words; but in those last moments, Sam had narrated a white lie to his brother. Because he wanted Dean to fight. He didn't want Dean to give up, or to die.

Which, in retrospect, was exactly what Dean had wanted when Sam was dying all those months ago.

However, this was different. It wasn't that Sam didn't want to save Dean — that he didn't value Dean's life. It was just that under the same circumstances, had Dean wanted to die, Sam would have let him, albeit reluctantly. Dying was better than being possessed, and Sam knew that from experience.

But Dean never understood, and even if Sam did succeed in somehow bullying Crowley into bringing Dean back now, Dean probably would never understand why Sam was so hurt at being manipulated into being possessed by Gadreel. After all, Dean had never felt black smoke cram itself down his throat. No one had used his body to kill innocent people. He hadn't been possessed by the devil, and he hadn't been in the Cage for a couple of centuries, tortured out of his mind.

Dean also wasn't the one who had killed Kevin with his own two hands.

It was not that Sam had wanted Dean to experience any of it. He had only wanted Dean to  _understand_  — because… well, they were brothers, and there was really no one else in Sam's life who he thought, would comprehend him better.

They  _were_  brothers. Until Sam decided to sever that. And until Dean died.

No. No matter what happened, Dean would always be Sam's brother. No matter where they went, or how things ended, they would always be brothers. Because this was definitely something Sam had lied about — that he didn't want to be brothers with Dean anymore.

_"_ _I'm proud of us."_

Sam and Dean had done everything that regular siblings did, and then some more. They'd saved the world together — more than once. They'd fought evil, protected innocent people, lost their own lives without blinking an eye, and these were things that you didn't just find someone saying they'd experienced with their sibling.

There are some great things about going to sleep every night, knowing that someone is watching your back, but there are also some bad consequences to living in close quarters like this. Letting in a third person becomes hard, and between two people, things tend to go sour sometimes.

Sam wished he hadn't let his and Dean's relationship degrade like that. He knew that his anger was justified, and he had been pissed that Dean wasn't apologising or even realising the real problem, but maybe he, Sam, should have let it go. Maybe he should have just spoken to Dean about it.

 _"_ _All right,"_  their father would say when they fought as kids.  _"You two need to talk this out. I'm not driving about with you fighting in my backseat. No one's allowed in the Impala until you sort this. And I'm not interfering. It's your fight, so you'd better figure it out for yourselves."_

John Winchester was far from a perfect father and there were few things that he hadn't messed up. This was one of them. Maybe, if Sam had remembered his father's advice, this wouldn't have happened.

Funny, he'd never thought he'd agree with his father on anything. But things changed, and things were so different now, Sam craved the old days. At least it was easier to smile then. And now, with what their lives had come to, they were mostly just braving pain and smiling through tears. There was nothing else. There had never been anything else in a long, long time.

**~o~**

Dean was lying on something amazingly soft and familiar. There was no pain, which was funny, because he knew he had been stabbed. And really badly, because it had fucking hurt like a bitch. He remembered Sam desperately trying to get him to hold on, and he remembered giving up, but he didn't know what had transpired after that. However, right now, this felt good. This felt different. It almost felt like—

 _Death_.

He was dead. There was no other explanation for it. Because Dean knew agony, and what he was feeling, it was the opposite of that. He was calm and relaxed. Damn, dying felt good. After all that crap he'd been through, this was really nice. And that was when he registered two other things: the smooth hilt of the First Blade, and a voice nearby, talking to him. A familiar voice, which spoke in an all-too-familiar accent.

"Listen to me, Dean Winchester," said Crowley, "what you're feeling right now – it's not death. It's life."

_What?_

"A new kind of life," Crowley explained.

Well, if he was alive, why wasn't he breathing? Why didn't he have the urge to breathe? Why did his body feel like a bunch of clothes he had thrown on — like gloves tightly enclosing a hand, but not actually part of the hand? Like he had borrowed someone else's body to reside in for a while? Why did it feel so foreign to him, and yet like his own?

Well, Crowley was full of crap. If this wasn't death, Dean didn't know what else it felt like. He had died many times after all, and he knew what this was. Only in death could he feel so strong. So peaceful. So… detached.

"Open your eyes, Dean," Crowley continued. Dean wondered if he could do that. Because he could feel his eyes and his eyelids, but it also didn't feel like they belonged to him anymore. It was as though he were wearing a prosthetic.

"See, what I see," Crowley urged him. "Feel what I feel." He paused. "Let's go take a howl at that moon."

Dean had no idea what he was talking about. But he wanted to open his eyes now, to ask Crowley to fuck off, if nothing else. He wanted to be left alone.

So he opened his eyes. And saw Crowley smile triumphantly.

**~o~**

Sam waited for a long time.

Crowley didn't appear.

Sam's jeans rubbed against the floor as he shifted about on his knees, trying to see if the demon was hiding behind him, enjoying his desperation, because he didn't put that past Crowley. However, there was no one. The sneaky son of a bitch probably didn't want to answer questions now.

Well, tough. Sam was going to make sure that Dean was walking and talking by the end of the day and Crowley was just going to have to come.

After swiping away the wetness in his eyes, Sam tried the summoning spell again. The dungeon reeked of sweat, vomit, and burnt matches. Sam was reminded of his time in the panic room, and he shivered. He shouldn't have locked Dean up. Maybe he should have told Dean, coaxed him, somehow, to not touch the blade… and Sam knew it wouldn't have worked, but he felt like he had lost precious time with his brother. But a couple of hours wouldn't have made a difference. Sam had spent majority of the last few months being an asshole to Dean, and that was never going to come back now.

Fatigue set into Sam's body — so deep, so terrible, he could barely stay on his knees anymore. He faltered and fell down to his haunches, holding out his palms behind him to support his body. His eyes burned and his throat constricted painfully, but he reined it all in because he didn't have time.  _Not now_ , he told himself. However, he was tired — so tired. And it wasn't just physical.

He swallowed, tried the spell again, and waited. He was aware that demons could show up any time after they'd been summoned, and that it didn't need to be immediate, but Sam wanted that bastard demon to appear  _now_ because he needed Dean to be alive  _right now_ , and there were no two ways about it. And he waited and he seethed. He cursed under his breath. But no matter what he did, a while later, Crowley still hadn't appeared.

Sam stood up and swayed, his legs partially numb from being in one position too long, and remembered Dean on his bed, in his room. Sam needed to clean his brother's injuries. He had already removed Dean's jacket and wiped away the blood, but that wasn't nearly enough. He needed to stitch his brother up because—

He didn't know why. He just knew that he couldn't stand the thought of Dean lying there, broken irreparably. Sam couldn't get himself to see Dean like that.

He realised that once Dean came back, the injuries would be healed, but he, Sam, needed to do this. He needed to give Dean the time and attention he had denied all along, only because he'd been angry about the Gadreel fiasco. But Sam also needed to find Crowley, and right now, Dean being alive again was important. Since Crowley hadn't appeared at the summoning, Sam was going to track him down and drag him back to the bunker. Either ways, Crowley had to, just  _had_  to bring Dean back. Sam didn't care how. Crowley  _owed_  them. He  _owed_  Dean for killing Abaddon.

**~o~**

Dean's eyes didn't feel sticky like he thought they would. Instead, when he opened them, everything around him seemed sharper than before. Like he'd needed glasses all along and had finally gotten them.

Although he still felt detached from himself, his senses were heightened. But not in that terrible way like they'd been when he was a vampire. He was just… more aware.

Also, he realised that he was in his room, with Crowley by his side.

Okay, this was weird. He couldn't be in Heaven because souls weren't going there anymore and even if they were, Crowley definitely wasn't the good memories. So was he in Hell?

"Ah, I knew it," said Crowley, interrupting Dean's thoughts. "Oh, Squirrel, we're going to have so much fun."

Dean finally found his voice. "I'm in Hell."

The demon frowned. "Well, you could actually go there whenever you want."

"What do you mean?"

Crowley smiled. "What I mean, Squirrel, is that you and I are on the same team now."

"I'm not dead?" Dean asked him.

Crowley shook his head. "Technically, no."

Dean pushed himself to a sitting position. Crowley wasn't making sense. Where was Sam? That idiot had better not traded his soul or done something stupid when Dean had expressly told him to leave it alone.

"It's not Moose, if you're wondering," said Crowley. "Although he did try. I think he's still waiting for me in that vile dungeon of yours."

Dean clutched the First Blade. "What's happened to me?"

The King of Hell shrugged. "Just the Mark of Cain."

Dean narrowed his eyes as he clutched the Blade tighter and began to move towards Crowley. The demon took a step back. "You might want to think twice before you use that on me, genius, because it's possible that I'm the only one who has answers around here."

Dean stood up. "I'll pass, thanks."

Crowley smirked. "Really? I'll still do you a favour, though." And with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

Dean stood there, holding the First Blade and staring at thin air that was Crowley moments ago. What had that asshole meant to say just now? Why the fuck would Dean need him?

That was when Dean caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung in his room. And hell if he believed what he saw, although it explained a lot of things about how he was feeling.

Dean's eyes were black.

He licked his lips and did the first thing that came to his mind. "Sam!"

**~o~**

As Sam left the bunker, he thought he heard his brother's voice calling out to him and had an urge to rush to Dean's room. But then he remembered his situation, and his throat constricted painfully as he headed to the garage. Dean was dead. Dean couldn't be calling out to him.

The backseat of the Impala was bloody and Sam knew he'd have to clean it before Dean got pissed. Dean didn't like anything staining his baby — even if it was his own blood. Sitting inside the car made Sam feel sick, but he clutched the steering wheel and let out a deep breath. His throat was still clogged, but he controlled himself because now was not the time to grieve. And Sam would have chosen another car from the garage for what he was about to do, but he wanted to make an announcement when he approached Crowley. The demon had to know who exactly he was fucking with, and why it wasn't about to work.

Sam found a crossroads pretty soon. He went over to the trunk and took out Ruby's knife and a can of spray paint. He had never drawn such a big Devil's Trap all by himself and it would take a while to do it alone, but he wouldn't waste time.

The moon shone from its place high in the sky, and the road sparkled black in the night. Sam had bent over, ready to start, when his phone rang. He hesitated and thought about ignoring the call, but when he pulled his phone out and saw who it was, he took it.

"Cas."

**~o~**

Castiel stared at the blood-stained angel blade in his hands, sickness rolling in his gut. If Metatron was telling the truth, this was Dean's blood. And if Dean had been stabbed so deeply anywhere in his body, there was no way he was alive.

No. No. This couldn't be. Sam would have called. He would have said something.

But if this was true, it was also possible that Sam's grief was so intense, he just wasn't able to call.

Castiel's chest felt unusually heavy, and his eyes were starting to burn. He clenched his fists and looked into Hannah's scrutinising eyes as he put the blade aside. She looked sympathetic. "Are you going back to Earth?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, "I'm afraid I can't wait."

She sighed. "Is it true, what Metatron said? About—?" She didn't continue.

"I don't know," Castiel replied. "But I will contact Sam."

Hannah's eyes softened. She hesitated. "Brother, I must apologise."

"For what?"

"I pushed you. Against  _him_. I — we shouldn't have doubted you."

Castiel knew exactly what she was talking about. He could still remember those moments, with Dean's eyes looking into his. Castiel had lifted the blade, but had dropped his hand when he had realised that he couldn't kill Dean. Dean was far too important to him to let go of like that. And he had realised that he would hold on to Dean, no matter what. From here and now, it was Dean that he would choose.

He remembered Dean's palms, firm and calloused against his cheeks, his forehead leaning against Castiel's, and then the brush of his lips. It had been a strange moment and Castiel didn't quite know what had made Dean act that way. He had wanted to ask — after everything — he'd hoped he could talk to Dean about it if he was willing. But that moment had never come.

Castiel wondered if he'd ever find out now.

He pushed himself up from his chair and nodded at Hannah. "I must leave."

She smiled sadly. "Take care."

**~o~**

_"_ _Sam, where are you?"_

Castiel's voice sounded sad and worried from the other end. Sam wondered if he knew about Dean. But then again, maybe he'd met Metatron.

Sam stared at the can of spray paint in his hand. "I'm okay," he replied, not really answering Castiel's question. "Did you get Metatron?"

Castiel didn't say anything for a moment.  _"Metatron is in prison. Sam, is Dean—? Is he—?"_

The angel's voice sounded so forlorn, so broken, Sam had to take a deep breath to keep himself together. "He's at the bunker. Cas—" his voice cracked, and all his attempts at shepherding himself were thwarted as tears filled his eyes, "Cas, I d-don't know…" Sam said, as the levee broke again. "D-Dean…" he couldn't speak further as he clapped a hand over his mouth to try and control himself. He had no time for this, and yet, the tears kept streaming unchecked, like they had a mind of their own.

 _"_ _I'm coming,"_  Castiel replied.  _"Where are you?"_

Sam took his time to answer. "I'm n-not—" he sniffed, biting at his quivering lip, "I'm not a-at the b-bunker." He dragged his sleeve across his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, but they shuddered too much. "C-Cas, I don't—" he swallowed, "I can't w-with Dean…"

 _"_ _Sam,"_  said Castiel in a placating voice,  _"Listen to me. Don't do something that your brother wouldn't like."_

"No!" Sam cuffed angrily at his tears. He clenched his jaw and forced his voice not to shake. "It's all Crowley's fucking fault. If you think I'm letting this go—"

 _"_ _We'll find Crowley,"_  Castiel promised.  _"But I just need you to listen to me. Don't do anything yet. Please wait for me. I want to see Dean."_  His voice cracked at the last word, and Sam blinked against his moist eyes, realising for the first time that Castiel was probably just barely holding it together.

Sam sniffed. "Cas?"

 _"_ _Please."_  Cas sounded even more broken, if possible.

Sam nodded, not realising that Castiel couldn't see him. "Okay," he said, squeezing his eyes shut against the last of the wetness. "I'm-I'm at this crossroads… I don't want to go back just yet and—"

 _"_ _I'll meet you there,"_  said Castiel.  _"Give me the exact location. We'll go back to the bunker. Together."_

"Okay," said Sam, sensing the silent comfort and support that Cas was offering. The angel had really learned how to be human. "Okay," Sam repeated. There was silence.

 _"_ _Sam,"_  said Castiel, breaking it,  _"take care"_

Sam nodded again, and swallowed. "Thanks, Cas. You too."


	2. Recognising and Realising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to SPNxBookworm for being an amazing person and a constant motivation. :)

The lights flickered around Dean as he moved closer to the mirror. He had several wounds on his face, but he couldn't feel a single one. He grimaced as the skin around them began to heal, suddenly, flesh inching closer, as though there was an invisible suture passing through them, sewing them up.

He was a  _demon_. A fucking demon. This wasn't a joke or, as far as he could tell, a dream. Because he had died — and he knew it, and he hadn't wanted to come back because the Mark was doing strange things to him. He hadn't eaten in days… had had the urge to kill and harm and his temper hadn't been very good either. Plus, he had felt very strong, and more determined than ever. And he was still feeling the same thing, except it was all a lot more in control.

Should he have known that it was all leading him to…  _this_?

Dammit, Sam was going to kill him. Literally. Dean should have listened to Cain. Cain had warned him about something — probably this — but then, killing Abaddon had been too darn important.

"So, Squirrel, need me around yet?"

Crowley's voice made Dean look around from the mirror, but he didn't flinch. His reflexes were sharp without the added weight of alarm, and it felt it awesome. This would be so useful in a hunt. Gutting those fuglies was going to be as easy as crushing a bug.

Dean flexed his fingers as he frowned at Crowley. "I thought I told you to fuck off."

"Oh, stop flirting before I blush," said Crowley with a smug grin, taking a step forward. "Tell you what? I'm the only one who is going to be able to give you an inkling of an idea—"

"I don't need you here," said Dean, interrupting him.

"And what about when Moose tries to kill you? When that boyfriend of yours caresses your forehead just to smite you?"

He couldn't argue with that. They might actually do that. Although Cas wasn't Dean's  _boyfriend_  — fuck Crowley very much. He growled slightly, clenching his fists, and annoyed that Crowley had the upper hand.

"You can daydream about angel phalluses later," the demon said, interrupting Dean's thoughts. "Right now, if you want this to go the correct way, you have to listen to me."

"And do what?" Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"Come to Hell with me."

Dean snorted. "You've got to be kidding me."

Crowley smirked. "Oh, believe it or not, Squirrel, Hell's your home now."

"Sure," said Dean. "And it's gonna be swell when I assassinate the king too."

"Such snark," Crowley responded in a drawling voice, putting his hands in his pockets and coming closer still, until his face was inches away from Dean's. "But you know what?" He tilted his head, "I know what you feel right now, Dean Winchester. Deep down, you're scared."

"Scared, my ass," Dean sneered. It was the truth. He could feel the strength, the power building up inside him and he knew that if he wanted, he could kill Crowley this instant. But he also wanted to listen to what the bastard had to say.

"You're not scared of me," Crowley replied, "no. But there's always someone lurking in your mind, whom you're scared for. Concerned, more like." He paused. "Your little Samantha. You're wondering if he'll listen. If he'll understand. If you're dangerous to him in any way. Funny how some things — some people stick even when you turn into a demon, eh?"

Dean just prevented himself from swallowing nervously. Everybody knew what he and Sam would do to protect each other, but he didn't want to prove it to Crowley right now. Instead, he glared at the demon. "I just want your intestines on a stick, Crowley," he said, and courage came back as easy as breathing. "And you know what?" Dean continued, fingers curling as he eyed the First Blade on the bed. " _You're_  the one who's scared. And you're the one who  _should_  be scared."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "You need me."

"Don't be so sure about that."

"So you're saying you don't you want to know what happened?  _Why_  this happened? About how this whole thing will work?"

Dean blinked at the demon. His fingers curled more, craving the Blade, but another voice in his head told him that he needed to control his urge. Once Crowley had served his purpose, Dean could, and would kill him. And, oh, he was going to make such a wonderful job of it — torture the son of a bitch and rip him limb-from-limb until—

He shook the thoughts away and glanced back at Crowley. The bloodlust would have to wait. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked Crowley.

"If you're willing to take my advice," the demon replied, "you should come with me."

"Never."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "And we're back." He huffed a sigh. "I'm going to be an altruist here, Squirrel, and let you know that it will be detrimental to your baby moose and your angel if you continue to stay. Well, they'll try to kill you first, yeah, but even if both of them decide that the power of their love can sort it all out between you and somehow keep you human, they'll be wrong."

Dean tilted his head. "I ain't gonna hurt them."

"Keep saying that to yourself," Crowley replied, "but you're thinking that now, because you're a new demon. Souls take thousands of years to get demonised, and yours — it's been twisted in a mere few months. Your change to forgetting your humanness — to becoming evil is going to be just as quick. Who you recognise now as your brother right now will just be another human you would enjoy gutting — another prey you would want to push that Blade into and carve like you did all those souls—"

"Shut up!" Dean snapped.

"Touched a nerve, did I?" Crowley asked him smugly.

"I'll  _never_  hurt him," Dean snarled.

"We'll see about that." Crowley paused, and looked at Dean calculatingly. "Your need to kill is much more in control right now, isn't it? Than when you were human? You can quiet all those voices that coax you to kill. And you feel good, even though you wouldn't mind ripping a few heads off."

Dean didn't reply, but Crowley's smile grew wider when he realised he was right. He continued to talk, and he sounded annoyingly amused. "This new, brilliant feeling you have, I'm afraid, is just temporary. You are stronger than you were as a human, so your cravings are still muted. Once you get adjusted to being a demon, though, it will come back. And it will take you over."

"You wanna bet on that?" Dean asked him.

"My best scotch," Crowley replied smoothly.

"Not good enough."

"Not my problem," Crowley shrugged. "I know I'll win anyway." He grinned, and spoke in a low, sing-song voice. "Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell. Who knew I'd ever get to say that?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Wait. What,  _Knight_ —?"

"Thought you'd have figured that out," Crowley said with a wink of his eye. And with that, he was gone.

Dean let out an exhale as the First Blade flew into his hand, and he caressed the hilt, a vague hunger growing in the pit of his stomach. He thought about what Crowley had said. Well, that bastard could lie all he wanted, but Dean knew that he was in control. He would be in better control of himself as a demon.

However, right now, he needed to talk to Sam. Without getting killed first, that is. Although is he was really a… Knight… Sam wouldn't be able to kill him.

_Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell._

Crowley's voice continued to linger in his head, loud and unwavering.

**~o~**

The sound of a running engine shook Sam out of his reverie as he waited in the Impala, which was still parked at the crossroads. He looked up to see a familiar car approach him, bathed in the weak light from the crescent moon and running smoothly along the lonely road. Sam opened the door of the Impala and it groaned with a familiar creak as he shut it. Castiel stopped his car a few metres away and switched off the engine before getting out of the car.

Sam blinked at him, walking forward with his hands in his pockets. Castiel's face mirrored the devastation that Sam felt, as he started to walk forward too. They stopped, staring at the road between their feet for several minutes before Castiel spoke up.

"He's at the bunker?"

Sam nodded. He cleared his throat. "You wanna…?"

"I would like to see him, yes," Castiel replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "How did—?" he swallowed audibly, "You saw…?"

Sam nodded again, clenching his fists against the rage inside him. "Metatron. He used the blade. Right into Dean's h—" Sam shook his head, unable to say it, as his eyes burned. He sniffed. "Is he dead?"

"Metatron?"

"Yeah."

"I've put him in prison." Castiel paused. "I hope you understand, Sam. We need him for questioning about the spell that he used to cast us out. He needs to be alive for us to get some information. However, we'll gladly let you kill him once we're done."

Sam nodded, quiet menace resonating in him as spoke. "I'll rip his lungs out."

"And I won't object," Castiel replied. "I'll explain it to the others."

"They hated Dean. They wanted him dead," said Sam bitterly. "So no offense, Cas, but their opinions mean shit to me."

"Hannah apologised," Castiel replied. "You should understand that they were being misled."

"And  _you_?" Sam asked Castiel. "You had picked up the blade. Would you have killed him?"

Castiel did not even take a heartbeat to reply. "No. Your brother meant more to me than you think, Sam. And I know he meant the world to you."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed, staring at a wilted bush on the side of the road. "Try getting that message across now. He probably died thinking I didn't give a shit about him and—"

"He never thought that," Castiel replied.

Sam snorted. "I  _know_  him, Cas. You know what he said to me when I was trying to help him when he'd been stabbed?" He looked into Castiel's eyes and continued, when his friend didn't reply, "He said he thought I was okay with him dying." Rage filled Sam again and he grit his teeth to stop himself from shaking. "Because I'd told him that I wouldn't save him if he died."

"You didn't say that."

"No, I didn't. I meant that I wouldn't let him get possessed. But he thought I would let him die."

"You must understand," Castiel said. "He trusted you, Sam. He cherished you. Even when you weren't on the best of terms, he knew you wouldn't abandon him."

"Yeah, right," Sam whispered, shaking his head and blinking against the stinging in his eyes as he looked back at the Impala. The car's black body gleamed in the moonlight, and for a moment, Sam almost saw Dean sitting at the wheel, stroking the dash and grinning.

_She's gorgeous, isn't she, Sammy?_

And yes, it was a gorgeous car. It was home. Comfort. Family.  _Dean_.

"Sam?"

Sam turned to his friend. "You chose him, though. Over them all." He paused. "Thanks. I think he really needed that. After all the shit I said to him… you're the person he should have trusted instead of me, you know? I just keep screwing with his faith in me."

Castiel didn't reply to that but continued to look at Sam brokenly, tears gathering in his eyes. Sam realised then that his own eyes were wet. He blinked rapidly and ran a hand through his hair. "We should get back to the bunker. I'd summoned Crowley and if he decides to show, I don't want him tampering with Dean's—" he swallowed, " _Dean_."

Castiel sniffed and nodded, before cuffing at his eyes. Sam turned away, unable to grasp the fact that his tough-as-nails friend had tears in his eyes. He had never thought he'd witness this, and his heart missed a beat.

"I'll come with you in the Impala," said Castiel in a slightly shaky voice. "I can pick up my car later."

Sam nodded and walked to the car, listening to Castiel follow him, and once they'd sat inside, Sam turned on the ignition. The Impala growled to life.

_Look at her purr! Oh, baby, you're all mine._

Suddenly, Sam couldn't breathe. He gritted his teeth and forced his lungs to work to pull air, but they didn't follow his command. Unable to bear it anymore, Sam killed the engine and scrabbled at the door handle to unlock it. He needed to run, to get out, to do something—

"Sam."

Sam found the handle, pulled up the lock, and threw the door open, before falling out on the rough ground. His palms scraped against the cold asphalt, dirt sticking to them, but he didn't care. The cool air lashed at his face, making his skin sting. He still couldn't breathe.

The car's doors creaked again, and boots thumped against the ground in swift footsteps. There was a hand on his shoulder. "Sam."

"N-No…" Sam gasped, his vision tunnelling. The hand on his shoulder clutched him tighter.

"Sam, you have to breathe."

"No…"

_Sammy._

Sam struggled, a dry sob escaping him as everything started to dissolve into blackness. His heart beat rapidly, thumping loudly against his chest. His shoulder was going numb and he could vaguely hear Castiel saying something.

_Sammy, come on. You gotta breathe, man._

"Sam, please don't fight me."

_Sammy._

"Sam."

_Sammy, breathe._

"Let me help you."

_Listen to Cas._

"Sam, please."

_In, out. In, out._

Sam coughed. "D-Dean."

_That's it. Very good._

"Yes, Sam, you are doing well. Take another breath. You are okay."

He opened his mouth, taking in a gasping breath as he felt Castiel's hand on his back. His shoulder hurt from where the angel had grasped him and slowly, his vision began to clear as he breathed, even and steady, feeling Castiel crouch right behind him, his hand still on Sam's back, offering support and comfort.

Sam started to hear the crickets again. His palms were gritty with dirt and Sam cleaned them on his jeans. He was shaking all over. His breaths were mercifully steady, but were still coming in short gasps. He turned back to Castiel, who got down to his knees, his hand firm on Sam's back. Castiel's lips twitched ever so slightly.

Sam turned away, took a sharp breath of air and buried his face in his hands before relinquishing control over a new round of tears.

**~o~**

It took a while to calm Sam enough and persuade him back into the Impala. The drive from there, to the bunker was silent. Sam had insisted on driving, but Castiel didn't object, for he didn't want to upset Sam any more. They were, as such, having a hard day.

Castiel thought of what Sam had said to him. About choosing Dean over the angels. About Dean needing it. This had never occurred to him when he had put the blade down, and when his followers had walked away, leaving him alone with the Winchesters.

After Sam had left, Dean had clutched on to Castiel and kissed him — a kiss that felt good and right in every way, and Castiel had sensed Dean's gratitude while they kissed. After that, Metatron had spelt out loud for Castiel what he felt for Dean. Castiel didn't want to disagree, but then Dean wouldn't probably be very accepting if he knew, so he was glad that what Metatron had said was just his secret.

He now wondered if the kiss meant that Dean reciprocated what Castiel felt, or if it was just one of those spur-of-the-moment things that humans often tended to do, and if Dean had just felt overwhelming gratitude and affection. Castiel hadn't known what to think at that time, since he hadn't come to terms with his own emotions towards Dean until Metatron made it evident. However, Castiel hadn't known that Dean had actually understood his decision to stand by him as Castiel choosing him over everyone else. He hadn't given it so much thought while siding with Dean — he just knew that Dean was the one he'd always choose.

Later, Castiel had asked Dean if they'd be enough to take down Metatron, and Dean had said they would. And indeed, they were.

If only he had found the angel tablet a few minutes early…

It was no use dwelling on what he couldn't change, and Castiel knew that, but he couldn't help it. Dean shouldn't have died. It shouldn't have happened. And yet, Castiel realised that he should have, somehow, expected it. One of the three of them always died when they fought together like this. There was no way he was used to it, though.

Sam pulled into the bunker's garage in a short while. With much trepidation, Castiel started to walk up with Sam. He didn't want to see Dean dead. And yet, he had no choice. He wanted to pay his respects, and talk to Dean. Perhaps, talking to a corpse wouldn't be the best idea but humans did that and maybe come of the weight would be lifted off his chest if he spoke to Dean.

He wondered if Dean's soul was wandering about the place where he'd been killed, since the souls weren't going to Heaven anymore. They'd have to force the information out of Metatron — make sure Heaven's gates were open to everyone, like they had been before, without the need of a special portal. And then, in a few short months, if he didn't do anything about his grace, Castiel would die too. But, well, Dean would be back by then because he would help Sam locate Crowley and reverse this mess.

For now, however, Dean was dead.

Castiel didn't realise that he'd reached the library, until he heard Sam's voice next to him. "What the hell?"

And when Castiel shook out of his reverie, he knew why Sam had said that. Standing before them, with their back to them, was Dean.

Castiel swallowed, happiness filling him. Dean was alive.

**~o~**

Sam knew he was dreaming. Or had Crowley come while he was gone and fixed Dean, knowing it was in his best interests to do so? He walked forward, not believing his brother hadn't heard him and Castiel enter, but hoping that he wasn't dreaming like he'd thought. Dean was alive. Alive. Standing before him… a little weird, but here… and…

"Sammy."

They could always recognise each other by the mere sound of their footsteps. It was something they'd gotten used to after having hunted together for so long. They knew how to be in sync, to sense each other in obscure ways, and ever since they'd been like this, Sam had never screwed up in a hunt by being confused between Dean and the monster when he couldn't see them. Dean had been equally proficient.

Happiness and relief filled every inch of Sam, and he wanted to bound forward and pull his brother into a hug and apologise, oh, apologise so much. Tears sprung in his eyes for the umpteenth time that day. Sam wanted to swear to Dean and let him know that he would never  _ever_  abandon his brother, and that Dean's life was very, very important to Sam, that they'd be brothers no matter what, and that he'd do everything that Dean said, even bring him all the pie in the world just because he was so grateful Dean was alive.

But there was something stopping him.

Sam sniffed. "Dean?"

Dean moved a little, back still to Sam. "Sam… you — it's me, okay?"

"Yeah, I know that," Sam replied to him. Because yes, he hadn't tested Dean with salt and holy water and all that, but this was Dean. Sam just knew it. It was an innate thing. However, there was something off about Dean, and Sam could sense that too.

He took a deep breath and raised his hands slightly to look non-threatening. "Turn around, Dean. Tell me what's wrong. I know it's you and I won't hurt you."

"Okay." Dean nodded slowly and obeyed him. And all Sam saw were his pitch black eyes.

**~o~**

"No, please—"

Castiel watched, horror rising in him as Sam pulled the angel blade out of his jacket with a growl. "Get out of my brother!" he said, going ahead with the weapon. And Castiel agreed. The demon possessing Dean would pay.

"Sam," the demon said, reluctantly raising an arm and spreading his palm, so that Sam stopped in his tracks. The demon kept his hand up. "It's me. It's me, okay? Drop that knife."

"My brother was not a demon," Sam snarled, and Castiel's eyes briefly fell on Dean's outstretched arm, where he could see the Mark, red and evident on pale skin. And he remembered the lore he had heard — about Cain, and about the First Blade. He would have to confirm the truth with his brothers and sisters, of course, but if the legend was right…

Castiel looked into Dean's eyes, going beyond his physical visage and glimpsing at his soul. He had raised Dean from Perdition and he could recognise his soul anywhere and even now, as he saw it, twisted and maimed, he knew instantly who this was.

Sam was fighting against Dean, struggling against the demonic powers holding him back, when Castiel spoke. "Sam, I can see his true face. This is, indeed your brother."

And Sam looked back at him, jaw dropping, hand going slack as the blade slipped out of it, and eyes growing wide. There was silence, only to be broken by Dean's whispered voice as he lowered his hand, leaving Sam free to move again.

Black eyes moved to Sam, menacing and emotionless, but betrayed by Dean's voice, which was heavy with relief. "It's me, Sammy."


	3. Never Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to SPNxBookworm for being my eternal moral support. :D
> 
> Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine.

_"_ _It's me, Sammy."_

Sam swallowed. Dean was wearing the same bloody clothes from before, but the cuts on his face were gone, leaving it relatively clean. His hair was matted with congealed blood and the Mark of Cain shone red, its tail visible from under Dean's rolled sleeve. Perhaps it was Sam's imagination, but the Mark seemed to be glowing a little too.

His gaze fell to Dean's eyes, which were black, and he wondered if this was some sick joke. Had Crowley done this to Dean? Purposely grabbed the opportunity to make him a demon?

Sam's grip tightened around the blade in his hand.

"Sam," said Dean, "we need to talk about this."

Sam snorted. "You think?" He didn't lower his weapon.

Dean raised a hand again, but not to restrain Sam this time. "You – you've gotta help me out, okay? I know you wanna kill me, but… I don't know—"

"Are you sure?" Sam snarled.

"Sam, it's still  _me_ ," said Dean. "And," he paused, and licked his lips, "you can't kill me with that."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a Knight of Hell," Dean breathed. "Crowley came to visit me. He told me something, okay? But you've gotta listen to me first."

Sam wasn't sure he heard that right. His jaw slackened as he saw the demon, the black eyes doing nothing to make him believe that this was his brother standing before him. But Sam knew, deep down, that this was, indeed, Dean. He had known it before Dean had turned around to look at him, and before Castiel had confirmed it, but no… this was not possible. His big brother couldn't be a demon.

He shook his head. "How do I know, that if I just sit and listen to you, that you won't kill me?"

And then Dean's gaze met Sam's, his eyes locking with his brother's. Sam watched in wonder as the black in Dean's eyes flickered away, giving way to familiar green.

"Because," Dean said in a low voice, "no matter what, I ain't gonna hurt you, little brother."

**~o~**

Hunger coursed through Dean like gigantic tidal waves. It was something he had never felt before — going beyond physical hunger, and making his palms itch for the smooth hilt of the blade in them. A voice in his head roared at him, to get out of the bunker, from the confinement of his brother and Castiel, and to kill. He wanted to start with Crowley, though. He wanted to kill him slowly. Starting with his gut, in a smooth, incision-like, cut, savouring the blood that oozed out…

"Dean?"

Dean snapped out of his reverie as he saw Sam's eyes trained on him. They'd settled in the library, with Sam still holding up his blade in defence, and extremely cautious. Castiel seemed wary too and his hands were both on the table, although he continued to look at Dean in a scrutinising gaze. Dean could see Castiel's halo. It was weak circle of light around his head, golden and pure in every way that sent Dean's skin crawling.

He supposed he should be offended that Sam and Cas didn't trust him not to attack, but he didn't care. He knew that had he been human, he'd have been hurt, and he'd have tried to joke around it, but right now he was so used to Sam not trusting him — whether he was human or demon — Dean couldn't give a damn. And it made him feel good. He understood why Castiel hadn't been human for longer, now. The world was a better place when you couldn't feel.

"What did Crowley say, Dean?" Sam pushed him, his voice cutting through Dean's thoughts again. Dean had already explained to him about the Mark, and how, according to Crowley, that was what had tethered him to life — in a different form.

Dean sighed. "He says I'm gonna be evil."

"Because demons are practically cuddly and innocent?" Sam questioned him sceptically.

"No, I—" Dean didn't want to tell him. He didn't want to reveal to Sam that Crowley had warned him that in a few short months, he would not be able to remember how to be human. That he'd become like Abaddon, or Ruby. Or Azazel.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean, speaking for the first time in a while. "I suspect I know what Crowley said."

"What?" Sam asked him.

"Dean's soul is demonised, but he, as a whole is not. He still remembers us — and he remembers being human. But he will lose his human memories as time passes. And that won't take very long."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "How did you know that?"

"You aren't the first demon I've encountered."

"So is that what Crowley said?" enquired Sam.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, he said that. I take it he's not lying, then."

"He isn't," Castiel replied.

"Well," said Sam, "it's a good thing that I can cure demons, then. We'll get you back to normal in no time, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "No."

"Why?"

"Just… no, Sam."

Sam looked confused as he ran a hand through his hair. "I – I don't get it. Why? It'll take all of eight hours and we can get rid of this whole mess."

"Sam," Dean licked his lips, "you didn't complete the trials. You almost died after that last one — and you would have died if Gadreel, and then Cas, hadn't healed you. Cas doesn't have all his mojo to heal you now."

Dean knew he shouldn't be able to feel anymore, but the horror of the day when he thought that Sam would die, still stood out at him. He remembered praying, remembered being taken for a ride by Gadreel, and remembered going into Sam's head. He remembered the doctor's words, about how it was unlikely that Sam would survive…

… and,  _"Same circumstances, I wouldn't."_

A wave of fury flashed through him and Dean curled his palm into a fist below the table to stop the First Blade from flying into his hand. He could see Sam and Cas looking at him, but before they could say anything, Dean stood up.

"You know why else I don't want you to cure me, Sam?" he asked, his own voice sounding like it was coming from afar, "Because no matter what I do to save your ass, it isn't good enough for you and I don't want your fucking ungrateful demon-infected blood in me when I'm human."

He barely registered the hurt on Sam's face as he walked away.

**~o~**

Castiel watched Dean leave; intrigued by the way Dean's eyes had suddenly flashed black and how he had changed all of a sudden. He had seen Dean's fingers curling, and had noticed that he had craved the Blade, but was glad that Dean could control it enough to walk away before he took possession of it.

Beside Castiel, Sam sighed. "I'm going to bed." Castiel could hear the hurt in his voice.

"Sam," he said, "your brother is…"

"He's a demon, I know." Sam huffed a small laugh. "I guess I shouldn't be offended then."

"No," Castiel said, "you should understand that demons are not like angels — they do feel, and not in the way that you do. All their emotions are extremes. They lack remorse or repent. They do not think about what they've said. They use words and their own anger as a weapon. Dean was just—"

"— trying to get back at me," Sam finished for him, nodding. "Fair enough."

"No, Sam," said Castiel. "He did not do that intentionally. He was craving the Blade again. It came out on you."

Sam frowned at him. "How do you know that?"

"I've heard tales," said Castiel. "And I also know that you are the only person who can anchor him from what the Blade does to him."

"The Blade has already done everything it could." Sam's face turned bitter as he clenched his jaw, hand going to push his hair back. "I should have put a stop to it when I saw it. I  _knew_  that fucking Mark couldn't be good. Should have convinced him to get it off. In the end, Abaddon wasn't even the fucking problem." Sam shook his head. "She only got on our asses when she realised we were out to kill her. And now, I'm going to fucking kill that Crowley."

Castiel didn't object to that. He watched Sam get up, and Sam waved at him before making his way to his own room. Castiel played with the lamp on the table, flicking it on and off, remembering the gentleness with which Dean had kissed him, and knowing that the same tenderness was probably gone from Dean. But Dean actually wasn't too different from the way he was at the crescendo of his Blade-related high. Maybe, he, Castiel and Sam, could actually help Dean by getting through to him.

He didn't know how long he'd been thinking, when he heard footsteps from down the hall. Castiel stiffened, and then his eyes caught Dean as he emerged. The table lamp was switched off, and so were the lights on the war room, since Castiel hadn't needed them. It wasn't entirely dark, though, and Castiel flicked the light switch again.

Dean was expressionless as he came and sat down opposite Castiel at the table. "Hey."

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel.

Dean smirked, and in the dim light, Castiel could see that his eyes were green again. "I don't need to sleep anymore," Dean said. He sat back and sighed. "God knows, that feels awesome. More time to kill fuglies."

"You have the urge to kill again," Castiel remarked.

"So?" Dean asked him. "I mean, yeah, it bothered me before, but it's in control and I think I can be of a lot of help in the hunts. Sammy doesn't even need to do anything. And any big bad that wants to take over Heaven or Hell or whatever — I can pretty much take anyone down. "

"Your brother would like to kill Metatron himself and when the time comes, you should let him do it."

Dean frowned. "Metatron isn't dead?"

"No, we need him. I have managed to imprison him, though."

"So you haven't learned from so many centuries of mistakes, huh."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "I don't understand what you mean to say."

"Cas, it's always crap like this that manages to land us in deep shit. Someone screws up by being too kind or too stupid."

"I am not stupid, Dean."

"Are you sure?"

Castiel knew that Dean might not mean much of it, but he was hurt. He sat back. "We need Metatron to find out if there's a way to reopen the gates of Heaven. For the souls too. And," he added, "I am not cruel."

"Sure, you can say that now after having killed thousands of angels before, eh?" Dean said. "But hey," he cocked his eyebrows, "I get it. You don't want that to happen again."

Castiel clenched his jaw. "Are you deliberately trying to anger me?"

"No, I'm just stating the facts. Much like you and Sam have been doing all along this whole year. Neither of you seemed to think how  _I'd_  feel. Funny."

Castiel frowned. "I had nothing to do with any of that. If you recollect, I was there, Dean, for  _you_ , when you had track down Gadreel after he left the bunker."

_I wanna talk about anything that isn't a demon sticking needles into my brother's brain._

"And then you left with  _Sam_. If both of you were so worried about the Mark, you should have devised some other brilliant plan to kill Abaddon."

"Abaddon didn't need killing," Castiel snapped, feeling anger rise in him. It bothered him how much this  _wasn't_  Dean. He remembered the hurt from Dean suspecting he was behind the angel bombings, and Castiel felt it return, knowing that deep down, this was probably how Dean felt. Being a demon was removing his inhibitions and making him honest. Demons lied, but sometimes they were also brutally honest when they knew it would hurt someone.

Dean was deliberately hurting him. Why would he do that?

"Uh," Dean said, "yeah, she did need to be killed."

"No, Dean," said Castiel. "She wasn't  _your_  problem. She wasn't  _our_  problem. You just made Crowley's life easier, and Abaddon's death served no purpose."

"She killed my grandfather."

"You don't have to avenge everyone, Dean. When she wasn't coming in your way, you should have let her go. And Crowley's company proved most detrimental to you."

"Do you want me to remind you  _why_  I was in his company in the first place?"

Castiel gripped the edges of the table. "Sam was sick and upset when you went off on your own. Would you rather I left him alone? He's my  _friend_ , Dean. I feel loyal towards both you and Sam. Unlike what Crowley feels for you."

"And guess what?" Dean said, "He made a better friend that both you fuckers. And I will gut him and kill him some day, but  _screw_  you."

"Yes, and I'm sure what he did was purely selfless." Castiel paused, taking a deep breath. "He knew about this and he always wanted it to happen, Dean. He wants to include you in his minions and train you. Have you considered that?"

"He ain't getting me," Dean said. "So you and Sammy can stop getting your panties in a bunch."

"Crowley is the least of our worries right now."

"Then get a hobby," Dean said, standing up to leave again. "Because I don't need either of you suddenly caring for me. I lived with it as a human, I'll live with it as a demon too. You two can bite me." When Dean left the room after that, Castiel felt worse for his friend than himself, because he hadn't realised the magnitude of pain that Dean had experienced from his and Sam's absence when he needed them.

Castiel felt sick. Dean hadn't been demonised by a mark or a blade or Cain or Crowley. No. It was him and Sam who had done it. It was them who had caused this. He thought back about the last year and wondered how many things he'd do differently if he knew that it would come to this. And he realised, he'd change a lot of things. Maybe he should have just spoken to Dean. If only Dean knew what he meant to Castiel, things would have been different. But things were not good, and now, Castiel would have to live with this guilt, which was his own doing.

**~o~**

Metatron sat in the darkness of his cell, watching the angel figure lean against the wall outside, watching him, silhouetted in the light. He curled his fists in anger. He couldn't believe that after all his plotting and planning, Castiel had ultimately written a better story than he had. And with a dead romantic hero too.

However, all metaphors aside, Metatron had thought that eliminating Dean Winchester would solve the problem. He had expected Castiel to put up a futile fight and go out, and hoped that Sam Winchester would finally kill himself out of grief or something. And even if he didn't, Metatron would have found him and killed him anyway.

All his plans had been thwarted.

He glanced at the figure still watching him, one of Castiel's minions, no doubt. He crossed his arms across his chest and huffed at the angel. "Stop staring, will you?"

"I am here to keep an eye on you," came the reply.

"And it's like I can go somewhere," Metatron replied exasperatedly.

"I don't trust you. None of us trust you anymore."

Metatron snorted. "Bad choice. Since I'm the only one who can for-real reopen the gates of Heaven. Without any need for that portal. And with a spell that will ensure everybody gets their beloved wings back. But hey," he raised his hands in a surrendering gesture, "I get you all. Keep me here. It's obviously the best punishment for trying to bring back order in Heaven. And as an added treat, you can all watch Castiel rot over losing the love of his life. I'm sure that's more important to you than your wings. Or your original strengths. Or the fact that you can be  _real_  angels again."

The other angel didn't reply.

"I know you think I'm lying," Metatron said dully. He suddenly had a plan. A desperate plan that might not work, but right now, he needed anything that might get him out of here. "And, you know, I might be lying too. You can't really test the theory now, can you? But you should think of what you might be letting go of,  _in case_  I'm telling you the truth."

"You can say whatever you want," the guard replied, "but we won't believe you."

"Yeah," Metatron sighed, "I know." He waved his hand. "It's okay.  _I'm_  a real angel anyway. I have my wings and everything. This…  _prison_  doesn't bother me so much, since I have hundreds of stories that I can go back and read in my head. And that's really quite entertaining — you'd know if you liked a book here and a tome there… some light stuff and then some dark. If you want to be  _you_  again, though…"

"I would suggest that you keep quiet," the angel across him snapped in a slightly hesitant voice.

Metatron knew, at that instant, that he had hit his target. He faked a yawn. "Sorry," he said, "I get bored." And then he sank into the shadows, hoping against hope again, that his plan would work.

**~o~**

Dean couldn't sleep. Of course, he was a demon, and he didn't  _need_  to sleep, and his body didn't need it, but right now, he wished he could switch off just for some time.

A few minutes after his talk with Castiel, Dean had felt like something had changed in him, opened some previously-clogged part of his brain and he'd recollected his conversation, cringing at whatever he'd said to Cas. And then he remembered the jab he'd made at Sam and it made him feel worse.

He honestly hadn't meant any of that. It had been like another part of him had woken up to say all that. A part of his hurt, angry self from before, which seemingly hadn't existed ever since his transition into a demon. But he was wrong. That portion of him had just been twisted, and even though he had really been angry at Sam and Cas at different points in his life, he wasn't now, and he didn't like that it came out like this, just to hurt them.

Dean ran a hand down his face and got up from his bed. The sheets were blood-stained, and they didn't bother Dean, but he knew Sam wouldn't like them like that, and he decided to change them soon. Now, though, he had some stuff to do.

He made his way down the hallway, to Sam's room. It was very late at night, nearing dawn, now, and Dean knew that Sam had left to sleep, but he also knew that Sam wasn't sleeping. There was no way Sam was sleepy, with his cogwheels whirring away at everything that had transpired, and the whole fact that Dean was a demon. Sam was too thoughtful to let go of consciousness that easily.

The door was shut all the way and Dean couldn't see light seeping out from beneath the crack, but he knocked. There was no answer. Dean put his ear to the thick wood and listened for movements, but couldn't hear any.

Maybe Sam was really asleep?

Somehow, Dean doubted that. He knocked again. This time, though, a tired voice answered him. "Come in."

Dean pushed the door open slowly to see Sam sitting up on his bed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. When he saw Dean, though, he stiffened, although he didn't reach for the angel blade on his bedside table. There was awkward silence, stretching for several moments. And then –

"Hey," said Sam, warily.

"Not sleeping?" Dean asked him, shutting the door behind him, so that Sam stiffened more. Dean raised his hands in surrender. "I won't hurt you, okay?"

Sam nodded, but didn't relax. He snorted. "Would  _you_  sleep?"

"I apparently don't need to anymore."

"Yeah, I figured," said Sam, turning away from Dean.

Dean hesitated, just for a moment, before making his way to Sam's bed. He sat down tentatively, and was relieved, when Sam didn't flinch away or something. He looked up at his brother. "Hey, listen, about what I said before—"

Sam nodded frantically, not quite meeting eyes with Dean. "Yeah, I know. You're right. We don't want you infected."

"No, listen to me," said Dean. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Sure." Sam was still nodding a lot and Dean felt frustrated. He suddenly had the urge to grab his brother by his shoulders and shake him, but he didn't do that. Instead, he sighed.

"I meant to say — we'll have to find a way to get rid of the Mark first. Because I might not get cured otherwise."

"Okay," Sam replied meekly.

"Sam—"

"Yeah, yeah," he looked up. "Uh… I'll research, okay? Whatever you want. Maybe—"

"Sam, I'm not trying to order you around," said Dean calmly. "I'm not going to hurt you if you don't do what I say."

"I know," Sam replied, and he sounded so small and…  _fuck_. Dean knew that tone.

"Sammy," said Dean as softly as he could, and was surprised at the wetness in his brother's eyes when they finally met gazes.

"Yeah," Sam said in a broken voice, trying to hide his face from Dean again. "I know you won't hurt me. And even if you do, God know, I deserve it. I just… I wished I could have you back in a different way, you know?" He looked down and his hair fell into his eyes as he sniffed.

So Dean did the one thing he could think of, and actually hope to accomplish at that moment. He pulled his brother into a hug.

Sam seemed surprised, and he was wary for a while, before his arms came up to close around Dean. He heard another sniff and hugged his little brother tighter. "I know, kid. I wish it could be different too."

"Not a kid," said Sam, all but pouting in Dean's arms, and making him chuckle.

"You don't change one bit, do you?"

"I won't if you won't." It wasn't said as a joke, or in the light tone that Dean had just used, and Dean realised what Sam meant.

He sighed, remembering Crowley's words. "I won't, Sammy. I promise."

He just hoped that he wouldn't be taking back his words some day. And he imagined holding Sam just like this, with Sam bleeding and dead, and vowed to himself, to fight it all. Because he would  _never_ , in a million years, hurt his little brother.


	4. Unexpected Alliances (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million hugs and kisses for SPNxBookworm for being a cheerleader, reading weird, smutty drafts, and for being awesome. :D
> 
> This chapter contains sexytimes. Tread carefully/enjoy, haha.

Dean watched his brother sleep, relieved that Sam had finally let his guard down. Cautiously, he stretched out a hand and laid it on Sam's hair, slowly moving some strands back. His brother turned towards him, snuggling tighter into his blankets, and Dean smiled. Sometimes Sam could be such a  _kid_. But then again, he was Sam. He wouldn't stop being a kid to Dean.

He chuckled and ruffled Sam's hair, eliciting a smile and a mumble from him. Dean was so glad that Sam could sleep — relieve himself of some of the burdens temporarily. The day couldn't have been all that easy for his brother.

He stood up from his chair a while later, and remembered that he had another apology to make. Wondering if Castiel was still in the library, Dean made his way there and saw the light going on and off in turns. So Cas hadn't gone anywhere. Good.

Cas didn't flinch or look scared at Dean's sight, and Dean tried to smile as he went to join him at the table. Castiel seemed to have figured that something was different, though, because he stopped playing with the light, and looked into Dean's eyes. "You don't have to apologise, Dean. If Crowley is to be believed, it's going to be like this from now on."

"Yeah," said Dean. "But I shouldn't have—"

" _We_  should have realised what you were going through," Castiel interrupted him. "Sam and I were acting oblivious, and we understand that it hurt you."

Dean snorted. "You were away doing your… army gathering or whatever, Cas. You couldn't have known."

"But I did know when I met you after that," replied Castiel. "I knew something was changing. Perhaps, I didn't grasp the whole seriousness of it, which is foolish on my part, since I know a lot of Cain's lore."

Dean looked at him, eyes wide. "You do?"

Castiel nodded. "I had heard of the Mark not letting go of Cain when he tried to kill himself. I knew how he became a demon. But I didn't think it was true, or," he hesitated, "that you'd die."

"And the Mark makes me a Knight of Hell, is it?" Dean asked him.

"It does," Castiel replied. "You are more powerful than most demons. Angels too."

Dean squinted at the weak glow of Castiel's halo. "What about you?"

Cas looked up at him. "Me?"

"Your grace?"

Dean watched Castiel's shoulders slump as he replied, "I'll try to stick around for as long as possible."

"And then?"

Castiel shrugged. "I'll help research how to get rid of your Mark and I'll try to get Metatron to tell us how to reopen the gates of Heaven. And… I'd like to spend my last days with you and Sam, if that's okay with you. I understand if it's not, though, in which case, I'll find somewhere to go and die quietly. If you and Sam don't—"

"Don't talk like you're our dog, Cas," said Dean. "Besides, no one's dying. It's enough that I died, and we have some new shit to sort out because of that."

Castiel smiled. "That is very kind, but without more grace, there is no way to prevent me from ceasing to exist."

"Well then, we'll just find a way," said Dean. "Since you've been kind enough to leave Metatron alive, we'll find out from him." He felt fresh craving arise for the Blade at the mention of Metatron, and he curled his hand again to stop the Blade from coming to him. "I'll have some fun questioning him too," he sneered.

"Dean—"

"You and Sam want him dead, Cas," said Dean, snapping out of his gory thoughts. "You don't need to lie about that. And the dickbag deserves it too. He's hurt enough people."

Castiel nodded slowly. "He deserves to know pain. Yes. But I don't want you to do it." He looked sad. "I don't want you to change sooner than what Crowley said, Dean."

"Nah, it won't change me," said Dean, waving his hand. He grinned at Castiel. "And," he said as he remembered something else, "there's another thing, Cas."

"What?"

"I know what you've been thinking about."

Castiel looked up at him, bewildered, but before he had the time to react further, Dean grinned, closed the distance between them and locked his lips with Castiel's.

**~o~**

"I wonder if I could stretch my wings in here," Metatron sighed, tapping his foot against the cold, stone floor of his cell. "They're cramped, you know," he said, "because I haven't spread them in a while. Didn't want to make you guys feel…  _deficient_." He sneered.

"And who, may I ask, brought about the loss of our wings?" the guard said angrily.

Metatron shrugged. "It had to be done. You wouldn't understand."

"No, I don't," the angel replied, stepping into the light.

Metatron grinned. "Ahhh, I always wanted to see your face."

There was a scoff. "And what would you do with it?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I just wanted to see which poor soul was stuck with standing guard over me." He paused. "Oh… the things I'm going to teach you…"

The angel shifted back into the shadows with a dismissive hum.

"I can give you back your wings, you know?" Metatron said, going for the kill.

"No, I don't need them."

"Are you sure?"

"I am  _surer_  that I don't want to betray my brothers and sisters."

Metatron sighed. "You angels… you're like sheep. You just want one person to follow and you're happy. So the bunch of you — now that you found out that Castiel is actually trying to do the  _right_  thing — not a  _good_ thing, mind, you're all wagging your tongues for his autograph again. Well, you should know that his tragic gay love for dead Dean Winchester will never diminish. The moment he finds a way to get more grace and resurrect Dean, he'll desert you all. And they'll get married, adopt a soccer team, maybe…" he bit his lip. "And you guys don't even  _like_  Dean, do you?"

"Castiel will not desert Heaven for one man."

"He already did it once. Or didn't you notice when he dropped the blade and refused to kill Dean? Really, what part of 'big, gay love' don't you get? As soon as he's under — or well, over Dean — I don't know of their preferences — he will forget everything else, and some angels, here and there, hoping for his or her wings isn't going to make a difference to him."

The guard angel fell silent, and Metatron knew he'd hit a nerve. Hook, line and sinker…

**~o~**

Castiel's lips were hot against Dean's as he moved his hands to cup the back of Dean's neck, not pulling away like Dean had thought he would. This time was very different from the first and the desperation, the helplessness from before were gone. Dean's tongue found its way into Castiel's mouth and he wrapped his arms around the angel, pulling him closer as their tongues flicked against each other.

Soon, the chair felt too confining and Dean pulled away and grasped at Castiel's collars with a sudden burst of energy, the chair moving away on its own accord as he stood up. He pulled Cas up with him and veered him towards the table before matching lips with him again. Dean traced lines up and down Castiel's spine, feeling him shudder against him and they pressed closer. Then he stopped his motions with his hands and kept his palms splayed on Castiel's back before slowly slipping them forward, so he was grasping the lapels of Cas's trenchcoat.

He took it off, and then the blazer underneath, and both of them slipped out of their pants. Dean pulled Castiel back after their shirts were off, his hands going to Cas's back again, and then sliding lower and lower still and into the waistband of his boxers. Dean gripped him, fingers getting a grab on Cas, and he jerked forward, making Castiel gasp against his lips.

Dean jerked forward again and Castiel pulled his lips away, burying his face in Dean's shoulder, his breaths heavy. Dean grunted, and gave another mighty thrust.

They turned, so Dean was against the table now. He pulled Castiel against him again, roughly. The contact made Castiel sigh and Dean thrust forward again, and then again, until Castiel was letting out low-pitch moans. Dean grunted right along, sweat pouring down his back. He could feel Castiel against him now and he stopped gripping Castiel's ass, only to bring his hand forward, pushing it into Cas's boxers from the front this time.

"Dean," Castiel whispered, his lips dipping to the spot where Dean's neck met his shoulder. Dean chuckled, his fingers working on Cas. He felt Castiel move, cold hands urgently invading his own boxers, light fingers landing on him, making him gasp right along with Cas.

He went up and gripped Castiel's waist and thrust again. Castiel sighed, his lips parting as Dean ground against him again and again. It continued for several minutes — a frenzy, a dream, a dizzy blur; sweat making its way down both their face in torrents and their breaths coming out short and heavy. And then Castiel arched back, panting, as his eyes shut and his jaw dropped open. Dean felt Castiel's hands loosen on him but in another minute he had climaxed and Castiel was pulling him close so that their foreheads were meeting, their breaths shaky and erratic.

Dean let out a chuckle as he pulled away, noticing just then that the lamp had gone off. He hadn't seen everything going dim around him although he could still see everything from the soft glow of Castiel's halo.

"We should get out of here before Sam decides to see what the fuss is all about, and embarrasses himself," he said, letting go of Cas.

Castiel nodded, still breathing heavily. Dean leaned against the table. "Did I take you by surprise?"

"A little," his friend replied.

"Funny," Dean replied. "I had no idea you even wanted it. Until now — that is. But, well, I think I've kinda wanted it for a while." He paused, before bending over to collect his clothes and starting to exit the room. "Well," he said, turning back once to look at Cas, "that was some of the best I've had and it wasn't even sex. We should do this more."

Castiel let out a nervous chuckle and Dean frowned as he went back to him. "You havin' doubts, Cas?"

"Uh—" Castiel began, but Dean stopped him by locking lips with his. He brushed his tongue lightly against the border of Castiel's mouth and pulled away.

He winked at Cas. "No more doubts, okay? God knows, we've both wanted it for a while." He smiled. "I'm a demon, man, I ain't going to have second thoughts. And you said you had sex with April that one time? Well, she ain't nothing compared to me."

He laughed at Castiel's slow, mesmerised nod before walking off to his room again.

**~o~**

"Do you know how hard it is to look for abandoned churches?" Sam asked, putting a piece of pancake into his mouth.

Dean looked up at him from his glass of whiskey, something akin to warmth spreading through him when he realised how much better Sam looked this morning. They were still in a shitty situation, all right, but Dean was glad that his brother was able to accept at least some part of it. Castiel too had joined them for breakfast and was squinting at his phone, trying to figure out something while Sam and Dean spoke.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And you decided to share that particular piece of information,  _why_?"

"Need to cure you," Sam shrugged.

"Sam," Dean said, "I told you. We need to get rid of the Mark first."

Sam sighed and put his fork down. "Honestly, Dean, I just… I just want you human now, okay? We'll see about the Mark later."

"Yeah, but what if I don't get cured because of it?"

"Then we'll try again after getting rid of it," Sam replied. "Look — what I'm saying is—"

"You almost died the last time you tried to cure a demon, Sam," Dean said in a low voice. "Or don't you remember that?"

Sam snorted. "Could I ever forget? But Dean, Cas cured me and I—"

"We're not taking chances. You curing me would bring you back to almost completing the trials again."

"Dean…"

" _Sam_ ," said Dean firmly, "it's final. Mark goes first, then we find out if curing me will kill you, and if it will, well… there's Ruby's knife, because then I'll be a regular demon, I hope…"

"What?" Sam asked him incredulously. "Why would I kill you?"

"Because curing me isn't going to keep me alive either," Dean replied. He sighed, matching gazes with Sam. "What you see on the outside is my mug with the cuts gone. My skin's healed, yeah, but inside, my heart is still lacerated, okay? Once I become mortal, all that's going to happen is that you'll lose about a pint of blood and I'll be dead."

Sam swallowed and he looked so stricken, Dean's heart would have also metaphorically broken if he were still human. He still did feel bad, though. Because, somewhere, he knew Sam would always be there — a part of whoever he was, whatever he was — that Sam would never go away. And that Sam was hurting right now.

Sam swallowed again, eyes wide. "You didn't — you didn't say."

"What, you wanted me to drop this bomb after everything you'd been through yesterday?" Dean asked him. "Because, yeah, if you want the satisfaction of me dying human, you can go ahead and cure me but otherwise, I'd just ask you to save the effort."

"You're my brother," said Sam, and although that didn't answer anything, it answered everything all at once. He buried his face in his hands for a moment, before looking up. "Gosh, Dean, we'll — we'll find a way…  _fuck_ … I… just give me time."

"Yeah, I'm pretty much immortal," Dean said to him with a smirk. "So don't worry about that."

Sam chuckled. "I wish I could do that. But we  _are_  on a timer here."

There was silence, and Dean returned to his whiskey, feeling Castiel's eyes on both him and Sam.

"I can heal you both from any complications," Cas said suddenly, turning both Sam's and Dean's attention to him. He shrugged. "I'll go quicker on the questioning with Metatron. Maybe I can do something about my grace problem — fix it permanently. I am sure he has a solution. It will require persuasion…"

"Or?" Dean asked him. "What if Metatron doesn't break?"

"Then I'll use my remaining grace to heal you both after Sam cures you." Cas smiled lightly. "And I wouldn't prefer to die any other way."

"You ain't dying," Dean snapped at him.

"Yeah, Cas," said Sam. "We'll find a way."

Dean rubbed his palms together. "Good. Let's get to questioning that douchebag. The sooner we do this, the better it is for everyone."

"Heaven still has to be opened for spirits," said Castiel. "The actual gates are shut."

"Okay, then, that first. And then your grace. Then the Mark. Then Sam cures me if he still doesn't think I'm more awesome this way—"

"I'm curing you, Dean," said Sam stubbornly.

"Okay, then," Dean replied. "I become mortal again. Whatever." He stood up. "You both ready to start?"

In reply, Sam looked up from his half-finished pancakes and Dean wrinkled his nose. "I forgot you kids get hungry. Fine. Finish up, and—"

Castiel's cell phone started to ring, interrupting Dean from whatever he was going to say. He watched as Cas took the call, thinking of last night. Neither he, nor Cas had talked about it, although, in the morning, Sam had been surprised by the fuse being blown on all the library appliances. Dean reckoned that was what happened when a demon and an angel almost fucked, but he didn't voice that to Sam.

He watched Castiel's eyes widen in shock as he spoke grimly on the phone. Cas nodded a couple of times, before reaching up to massage his forehead. When Castiel had cancelled the call, Dean knew it wasn't good news. He licked his lip. "What?"

Castiel pressed his lips together for a moment, before answering. "Metatron escaped."

Dean felt rage rise in him. So clear, so strong, he had to stop himself from flipping over the table. He remembered it would hurt Sam, and possibly Cas, and controlled his urge by taking a breath. "Who let him out?"

Cas shook his head. "Dean—"

"Who?"

He bit his lip. "You should know, Dean, that the angels have been though a hard time and—"

" _Who_ , Cas?"

Castiel swallowed. "I – I believe you're familiar with the angel who called herself 'Flagstaff'?"

The rage took over, and before Dean knew what he was doing, the Blade was in his hand as he felt himself dissolve — become one with the air. That was when he realised that he was fucking teleporting without knowing it. The last sound in his ears, however, was that of Sam rising from his seat to stop him and Dean was glad his brother was too late, as he arrived at the abandoned warehouse that Castiel and his followers had used before, his fingers curling tighter around the Blade in disappointment that he couldn't get to Heaven.

**~o~**

Dean Winchester was more powerful than any other demon and Crowley was trying not to be terrified at the thought of him. He had felt, when Dean had woken up, the raw, basic energy from him, and known, at once, that Dean was even more powerful than a regular Knight of Hell. But Crowley couldn't very well tell him that, could he? He didn't want to be killed by that bloody tosser of a Winchester.

No, Dean was way more powerful than Abaddon. Almost as much as Cain himself. Maybe even actually as powerful. And Crowley needed Dean's power. He could already see the deals going down (imagine Dean Winchester as a part-time crossroads demon, asking for kisses in exchange for whatever foolish things those humans wanted — and who would deny an offer made by a face like  _that_? Humans were beautifully shallow). And then there'd be souls coming in and getting demonised sooner, and the fun they could have… kill those bloody humans…

But Dean had that giant brother of his to keep him on a leash. And Crowley could bet his fine arse that Sam was going to interfere. The weird Winchester brotherly,  _whatever_  bond of theirs was a curse. It never did any good to anyone. Not even the Winchesters themselves.

Crowley leaned back on his leather sofa as he sipped on his scotch. Now that he was the king again, he had regained his followers, and he'd had some of his cronies gut the owner of this mansion so he could keep it for himself. In a few hours, his tailor was coming over and—

He was interrupted by a familiar  _whoosh_  of wings. And he looked up to see Metatron standing behind him.

 _Ah, shite_ , Crowley thought, his hand going into his coat to find the angel blade.

Metatron raised his hands in defence. "Not here to kill you, or injure you in any way." He looked at the couch beside Crowley's. "Can I sit?"

"Sure," Crowley replied, although his eyes were narrowed.

Metatron sat on the sofa, his jean-clad arse making a squeaking sound against the leather.  _Bad brand,_  thought Crowley, disliking Metatron's choice of attire. This fellow had bad taste overall.

"Anyway," Metatron began and Crowley's attention snapped back to him. "I'll cut right to the chase," he said.

"Okay."

"I want to make a deal with you."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "A deal. I can hardly take your soul after ten years now, can I?"

"Well, a different contract, then," said Metatron. "I need your help in getting rid of some people."

"The Winchesters," Crowley guessed.

"Sam, to be specific. And Castiel."

Crowley laughed, a short laugh, enjoying, as Metatron gave him a confused look. "You haven't heard, then," he said to the angel.

"Heard about what?"

"Well, it's just been a day and all…" Crowley shrugged, "But Dean is actually my party now."

"Oh, no, no," Metatron waved at him. "I killed him. That's why I only need help with Sam and Castiel. Since they're like cockroaches, you know."

"Dean Winchester is not dead," Crowley purred. "He's a demon now."

Metatron raised his eyebrows. "A – A  _what_ , now?"

"I heard that you like to read. Haven't you ever come across Cain's legend, then?"

Realisation dawned in Metatron's eyes. "I didn't think that it would be true."

"Well, I thought it was rumour myself," Crowley said. "Until I saw him open his pitch black eyes. And I should tell you, he's still got the human part in him, which will urge him to kill you if you touch his kid brother or his angel."

Metatron sighed. "Great. That's just great."

"But see, there's always a way," Crowley told him, enjoying the look of dejectedness on Metatron's face.

"And what is that?"

"Dean's soul is yet to be completely demonised," he explained. "And once that is done, he won't recognise Sam or Castiel."

"And why are you telling me this?"

"I'm saying," said Crowley, "that I can speed up the demonisation process."

"How, exactly?"

He smirked. "Leave that to me. Do we have a deal?"

Metatron nodded. "Okay. But what do you want?"

"Souls," Crowley replied simply. "You give me some of the souls from Heaven. And if you let the spirits in — I want Kevin Tran too."

"No problem," Metatron said. "It's a deal." He held up a hand when Crowley stood up to kiss him. "Don't expect me to kiss a demon, though."

"Fine," said Crowley. "My people will type you a scroll in an hour."

Metatron stood up. "I'll be back." He started to leave, but then he stopped and turned around. "You never told me how long it will take you to complete Dean's demonisation."

Crowley smiled accomplishedly. "Once I get him?" He paused for dramatic effect, and bent forward, interlocking his hands.

"Seven days. Give me seven days, and Dean Winchester  _himself_  will hand you Sam's guts on a plate."


	5. Unexpected Alliances (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter. Sorry about that! But I really had to end it where I had to. You'll find some gore here — be careful! Also, for reference — Flagstaff is that angel whose throat Dean put a blade to in 'Stairway to Heaven'. The doctor angel who revealed Tessa's name. She said her name was eighteen syllables long, but I could find no angel name matching that, so I'm just going to go with calling her Flagstaff.
> 
> Also, I realised this fic is already going AU compared to all the synopses and glimpses we're getting. This story is pre-plotted, so even if something matches, it's coincidence!
> 
> Thank you to one of my wonderful readers, Zana Zira, for bringing up a canon discrepancy with Dean's stab wound. :) The show is pretty shaky on its canon, I just went with a theory in my head about the vessel injuries, so I hope I don't confuse you guys.
> 
> SPNxBookworm, thanks for being an amazing cheerleader! You is awesome. :D
> 
> This chapter contains a small tribute to Robin Williams. I'm sure you'll recognise it. :)

It took a while for Dean to stop seeing red after he realised that Castiel's previous headquarters was deserted. The angels had relocated to Heaven, and of course that was where Metatron had escaped from. The bastard was cunning and Cas's new friends were fucking stupid. But Dean would find that Flagstaff bitch and kill her for letting Metatron out.

What had she called him? A murderer? An ape? He'd show her all those sides of him. Last time, he had only put a blade to her throat. Now he would sink it in and feel her pulsating blood vessel, her warm blood in his hands… and he would see her die, blasts of light coming out of her vessel's eyes, her mouth open as she would scream in agony.

Dean would make sure she repented every moment of letting Metatron out.

But right now, he was also wondering about his new powers. It was evident he had telekinetic abilities, seeing how he'd been able to restrain Sam from attacking him. And he knew he could teleport. What else? He remembered Abaddon strangulating him against the wall while he tried to fight her, and Azazel using his mind to torture him back at that cabin before they met with the accident with that semi. Could he do that too? And how would he know? It was not like he wanted to test his powers on Sam or Cas. He just needed to know that he could use them in case fuglies came for his brother or Cas. Or even him. And he could be so useful in hunts. But before that, he needed to know the whole extent of what he could do.

He took a deep breath — not that he needed it, but it did help clearing his mind — and he sat down on a rock, thinking. The Blade vibrated in his hand, eager to kill, and Dean clutched it tight, absorbing the sense of power that he felt from it. And then he had an idea. He knew that Sam or Cas wouldn't like it, but it was a start, and the end result would make them happy too.

Dean reached for the pocket in his jacket and pulled out his phone before sifting through the contacts. Then he touched Crowley's name on the list and put the phone to his ear.

**~o~**

Sam couldn't stop pacing.

His pancakes lay forgotten at the table as he ran a hand down his face, feeling Castiel's eyes on him.

"You think—?" he asked, looking at his friend. "You think he went to kill her?"

"I am sure he did," Castiel said, "but he won't find her. He can't get to Heaven, and that's where she is."

"Good," Sam said. "Good. I … uh, Cas, Dean… I'm kinda…"

"… Worried," Castiel finished for him. "I understand, Sam."

"Is it… is what he said true? About his injury?" asked Sam, heart beating hard against his chest. "When did Jimmy leave?"

"He was there during the Apocalypse," Castiel replied, "so I think he left after Lucifer disintegrated me."

Sam looked down, suddenly guilty. "Yeah. Sorry."

"It wasn't you, Sam."

"Yeah, people keep saying that to me," Sam replied. "But somehow, I still feel responsible, you know?"

Castiel sighed. "Sam…"

Sam swallowed. "Do you know how that works? Why — I mean… I need to get Dean healed before I cure him then."

"I can heal him," Castiel offered.

"No, not with your grace…" Sam trailed off making a vague motion with his hand. "We'll have to find another way… and then the Mark… Gosh. Shit. I'm such a fuck up. I—"

Sam stopped, suddenly feeling a hand on his shoulder. When he looked back, Castiel was there, eyes trained on Sam. "Dean will be human again before he gets converted into a full-fledged demon. You'll do it, Sam. You and I. We'll do it."

Sam nodded hesitantly, and gave Castiel a tentative smile. "Yeah, I guess. Thanks."

Castiel gave him a smile of his own. "I should go to Heaven now," he said then, a look of concern in his face.

There was a question in the statement, and Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay, man, you go ahead."

"I will interrogate the culprit. And I'll see if I can find someone trustworthy enough to help with healing Dean."

"Sure," said Sam. "Thanks."

He watched Castiel leave the room, wondering where Dean was, and praying for him to come back without doing any damage.

**~o~**

"What do you want?"

Dean wasn't sure if he imagined the fear in Crowley's voice but if he hadn't, he loved this. Crowley being scared of him was something new. He smirked. "You peein' your pants yet, douchebag?"

"Well, forgive me if I'm not too fond of all that rage," Crowley snapped. "But you know," the fear dissipated, and he was smiling too. "You need me, Squirrel."

"Don't be so sure."

"Why did you call me, then?"

Dean pursed his lips. "Metatron has escaped prison."

"So?"

"You're helping me catch and kill that son of a bitch."

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "And why do you think I'd do that?"

Dean pulled out his Blade. "Because I'll kill you if you don't."

Crowley didn't flinch away, or move. He looked down at the Blade. "Like I said, Winchester, you need me. You're not going to use that on me. So why don't we tie this up in a nice and easy deal?"

Dean gritted his teeth. "What do you want?"

There was silence. A bird flew overhead, and the sun was getting higher up. It was still weak, the morning just having started an hour ago, and Dean liked the subtle warmth on his skin, while Crowley laughed. "Are you sure you want this deal?"

"Cas has his angel team. And I want a demon team. Metatron is not going to escape this time," Dean replied determinedly. "So what do you want?"

_"_ _You."_

" _What_? No, I ain't—"

"No, you can keep shagging Cas, thank you. I don't want you like  _that_ ," Crowley said. "I am saying that I want you as my…  _assistant_ , if you will. You come whenever I call. Do what I tell you to. No excuses."

"You son of a bitch, if you make me hurt Sam or—"

"I  _won't_. I'm not stupid," Crowley replied. "It's Hell-related work. Do we have a deal?" He held out his hand.

Dean reluctantly extended his own hand and before he knew it, Crowley had pulled him forward. In a moment, Dean felt a pair of lips on his own and he pushed the demon away, gagging and spitting at the ground.

"What the hell, asshole?"

"That's how deals are sealed, sweetheart. Or have you forgotten?" Crowley asked him. "And I am better at this than Cas, I should think."

"I'll kill you."

"I'm waiting. And you're a terrible kisser."

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley was gone.

**~o~**

Castiel sat at a table, beside Hannah, thinking of everything that Flagstaff had told him. It seemed like Metatron had enticed and manipulated her, but all the angels had decided, together, to put her in prison anyway, because she had still done the wrong thing. She should have known that Metatron would try and worm his way out. Now Castiel sat with Hannah, trying to contemplate their next move towards finding Metatron.

Hannah looked sympathetic.

Castiel stared at the sterile walls, trying to think of what to say, when Hannah interrupted his thoughts. "Brother?"

He turned to her. "Yes."

"How are… how are things downstairs?" She hesitated. "I may have not liked…  _him_ , but his brother…"

"They're both good people," Castiel replied. "You must understand why I supported Dean."

She looked up at him and nodded. "Your love for him."

"No — yes, well, he's always been there, Hannah."

"And you love him."

Castiel didn't reply. Instead he concentrated on the light at the desk.

"It's not difficult to say," Hannah continued, "when you chose one man over thousands of angels and over Heaven itself." She paused. "Will there be a funeral?"

Castiel nodded, going with the lie. Because he didn't want Dean to be hunted. No one needed to know that Dean had… changed.

"I can resurrect him," Hannah offered. "Consider it my apology for not believing in you."

Castiel realised, then, that he could probably ask Hannah to heal Dean but if she saw him right now, she'd see his demonic soul too. So maybe it was best to wait for a while, after Hannah was fully convinced that Dean was about to become human again, and wouldn't harm anyone. Otherwise, there would only be more havoc.

"I think it's time that he rests," Castiel replied sadly. "But thank you, Hannah."

She looked at him, sadness and awe all at once, and nodded. Castiel didn't feel guilty about lying. He was doing it all for Dean. And it wouldn't be long before he'd help Sam set everything right.

**~o~**

"Where were you?"

Dean looked up from cleaning his gun as Sam stood at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. Dean grinned at his brother. "Hey, Mom. I didn't bring any weed home, I promise."

"Very funny," Sam snorted. His eyes fell on Dean's bloody bedcovers. "Gotta change those."

"I will."

"So where were you?"

Dean licked his lips, contemplating lying, but then he shrugged and looked into his brother's eyes. "I was making a deal with Crowley."

" _What_?"

"To find Metatron."

"Cas is already on it."

"Cas has been on it for more than a year, Sam," Dean replied. "I ain't wasting any more time. God knows what the douchebag will try now."

"What is your end of the deal?" Sam asked, walking in and taking the chair next to Dean's bed. He didn't seem scared of Dean at all now, and Dean found this comforting. He put the gun away and turned to face his brother.

"I said I'd go to Hell at his beck and call. Do what he wants."

"Including killing people, then," Sam said, nostrils flared. All of a sudden, Dean didn't think that telling Sam was a good idea at all. He watched as Sam nervously ran a hand through his hair. "Did you even  _think_  this through, Dean?"

"Yes, I did, and I think we can make some sacrifices to get Metatron, Sam."

"Really?" Sam asked, eyes widening. "Is that what you think?"

"It's what I believe."

"What is wrong with you, Dean?" Sam burst out, running his hands through his hair again, making some strands stick up oddly. "You're behaving like you're… a – a—"

"A demon?"

Sam let out an annoyed noise. "So if he asks you to kill me—"

"I told him strictly that I'd gut him if he tried to hurt you or Cas," Dean replied. "By himself, or through me. So jeez, thanks for all that faith you have, in me Sammy. Might come in handy someday."

His brother sighed. "I'm – I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"I know I am a demon," Dean told him. "I'm a monster and an abomination and whatever else you wanna call me, okay? But you're still my brother."

"Yeah," Sam replied in a low voice. "I know. You're not an abomination."

"I am nasty."

"No." Sam took a deep breath. "You're my brother too. And—" he paused, and swallowed around what seemed like a lump in his throat. "Back then — all those months ago… I shouldn't have said all that to hurt you. I just wanted you to understand…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "You gonna start bawlin', now?"

Sam shook his head, although he looked pretty close to it.

"Oh, come on, Sammy," said Dean. "What's with the crybaby act since last night, huh?"

Sam looked at him, composed, and smiled lightly. "Probably because you died, Dean."

"But I am alive now," Dean told him. "And," he smirked, "it's good to know that me dying still makes you cry."

"No, actually, they were frustrated tears. I couldn't punch your face for being a jerk," Sam replied. "You died and all and I was forced to be kind to you."

"Aw," Dean replied, "that's my boy. You're back to your bitchy self, ain't ya?"

"We'll bring you back to your old self too," Sam promised him.

"Sam, I told you—"

"Dean…"

"It's too dangerous. You can't do it without consequences, man."

"I don't care. Watch me."

If Dean had a working heart, he'd have felt warm at Sam's faith. Sam wouldn't fail him. Not this time.

**~o~**

They were watching  _Jumanji_  on TV when Crowley decided to summon Dean for the first time.

Sam looked up from his popcorn, concerned. It had only been a few hours since Dean had sealed his deal with Crowley. After that, he had managed to fix a nice lunch for Sam, all without losing his temper or saying anything hurtful to his brother. He could sense that whatever had been broken between him and Sam in the last few months was on the mend, and he needed it to be this way. But he hated that he could still  _feel_  when it came to Sammy. Or Cas. Although, somehow, it felt good. Because he knew he'd always have their support too.

Presently, Dean paused the movie and stood up. "I gotta go, Sammy."

Sam swallowed. "He's uh… Hell-related stuff, right?"

"Yep."

He pressed his lips together. "Dean, I don't like this, man."

"Neither do I. But hey, we need to get to Metatron, remember?"

"Yeah…" Sam switched off the TV, apparently having lost his interest in the movie. "Just…"

"I will be careful," Dean said. "Although you should really stop worrying about me. It's not that I can die again now, can I?"

Sam flinched, and Dean realised it was probably a bad joke. "Want me to get you some takeout later?" he acquiesced. "Any girly salads?"

The corner of Sam's mouth twitched. "Okay. Good old Caesar will do."

"Sure," said Dean. He paused. "I'll be back soon. Find us a hunt. Get your mind off things. Call Cas."

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. He cleared his throat. "Hey, Dean…"

Dean looked up at him, to see a full-fledged smile quirk up Sam's lips. He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I know what's going on between you and Cas."

"Uh…" Dean shrugged. Why was he hiding it from Sam anyway? Maybe when he was human, he'd be somewhat shy about it but…

He grinned. "Yeah, we kinda almost fucked."

Sam blinked. "That was more information than I was expecting — but… but yeah, I kinda know."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "How?"

Sam snorted. "All the fuses in the library were blown, Dean, How stupid do you think I am?"

For the first time since Dean had woken up a demon, he had no reply. He frowned as Sam threw a battery at him. "You're fixing all that shit in the library, jerk."

Dean scoffed. "Fine." And then he was blending into nothingness again.

**~o~**

"You're late."

"Bite me."

Crowley glared at Dean. They were in Hell and Dean raised his nostrils to the smell of sizzling flesh, ears perking to the sounds of screams. Molten lava shone through the cracks on the stone floor beneath them. It was pleasantly warm and Dean felt comfortable. He realised, a moment later that it was probably because he belonged here. It would have been awful if he were still human.

"We have a deal. Let's not forget that," said Crowley.

Dean raised his hands. "Hey, I ain't forgettin' nothin'. But you gotta deliver what you promised."

"I will," Crowley replied. "Now, are you ready to start?"

"Sure," said Dean. "Bring it on."

"Come with me."

Crowley led him through stone corridors, lit with burning humans, rivers of blood covering the floors, flowing warm and sticky against Dean's ankles. Entrails sat piled on rock tables and several demons passed by, staring at Dean as he walked past. Dean kept his eyes black for them and resisted the urge to kill them all. He didn't need to piss Crowley off right now.

They stopped just outside of what seemed like a room, and Crowley looked excited as he turned to Dean. "And now, your first task in Hell."

"Cut the drama," Dean said flatly.

Crowley just turned around and unlocked the door with a click of his fingers and mangled wood swung in, making a terrible, creaking noise. Dean entered after Crowley, stopping in his steps a moment later.

The room was a huge hall, lit by entrails acting as torches. A putrid smell arose from all around and it was hot — hotter than what it had been outside. And in the hall, lined in several rows together, were racks, mounted with screaming, squirming souls.

Crowley looked at Dean, watching Dean's expression, and smirking at him. "Go ahead, Squirrel. I've heard you're actually good at this."


End file.
